Falling
by FlowerOwl
Summary: The sky was red with blood as Romeo fell, the dagger in his chest leaving him with nothing but the cold touch of death. The next second, however, Mercutio was there, acting almost like he could defend him from the cold and bring warmth into his world. As the realisation dawned on him, Romeo could feel the tears burn in his eyes.


It all happened in an instant. At least that was what it felt like to Romeo. One moment, he was sprinting towards the marketplace, his chest tight with fear as he recognised the shouts reaching his ears, and the next thing he knew, he was pulled forward, acting upon the knowledge that he could not stand still and do nothing, but still somehow unable to deny the feeling of having been moved by forces outside his own control.

Of course, it all came to an end just as quickly as it had begun. Perhaps he should have felt frightened, should have turned around and fled from both the duel and the shouts of the prince having been summoned, but in those few, tense moments, Romeo could barely think about anything that was not what was directly in front of him, faces and thoughts flickering in front of his eyes as he made one last attempt at forcing Mercutio and Tybalt apart, already hearing how his voice was growing hoarser, the desperation having risen like a wave, ready to sweep in over them.

In front of him, Mercutio threw another insult at Tybalt, his eyes shining with something that was neither joy nor contempt as he turned back to look at Romeo. But while he knew that this was his moment, the last chance to pull Mercutio towards him and try to beg him to leave the fight behind, all Romeo could do was to follow his instincts, a horrible tucking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and look directly behind Mercutio.

Something flashed, bright and metallic, Tybalt charged, sprinting towards them, and as ten metres became five, became two, became one, Romeo knew what he had to do.

It was strange how little time he had to think, merely mirroring Tybalt's movements and hoping that it would be enough when he too ran towards Mercutio. A sound of surprise reached him as he wrapped his arms around him, the imitation of an embrace lasting for only a fraction second before it shifted, Romeo putting his entire bodyweight into the shove. He could not tell whether Mercutio falling to the side was a result of the way his heart beat furiously in his chest, counting down the seconds to the moment, a quick waltz as he finished the last steps of the dance, or if Mercutio had been caught off guard. The only thing he could be sure of in that moment was the fact that, despite everything, had he known what he would do, Mercutio would not have moved willingly.

And then came the sudden coldness.

Romeo was almost grateful for the fact that he did not have time to follow the path of the knife, finding himself looking at Tybalt rather than the weapon as the world came to a sudden stop. His cousin, Romeo realised as he looked into Tybalt's eyes, they were cousins, had been for a while now. Perhaps Tybalt had arrived at a realisation not unlike that as well, for where Romeo had almost expected to see the fiery colour of hate look back at him, seeming almost like the flames that had made shadows dance on the walls as Mercutio had rushed forwards to grab him and shove him out of the door of the Capulet house, he instead saw how the moment of dawning realisation gave way to horror. Tybalt said something, Romeo could see that, he could see how he tried to form the words, stringing them together to make an apology, but no matter how much he tried to focus, he could not hear it above the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Around him, the world had gone quiet, leaving only the sound of his own heartbeat behind.

But then it started spinning again, the feeling of moving once more sending a sudden wave of nausea over him, making him lose his balance. Taking a small step backwards, Romeo saw the world tilt around him, Tybalt reaching forwards, perhaps to try to stop him from falling, perhaps to take back the knife, Romeo could not tell. And then someone rushed forwards, wrapping an arm around him and stopping him from falling.

Mercutio.

Maybe it was a sign of how this was not something he could hope to escape from that Romeo found himself unable to look away from Mercutio's face, the illogical hope that perhaps this would all be all right in the end, that, in just a moment, Mercutio would laugh along with him and pretend that everything was still the way it was supposed to be, blooming in his chest. However, as he saw how Mercutio was not looking at him, but rather towards a spot on his chest, that hope had to surrender, dying along with everyone else who had lost their lives at the hand of the feud.

Later—the thought of there being such a thing as a later almost making a laugh rise from his throat—Romeo would not be able to tell who was the first to respond. All he knew was that in a moment, they both acted, Romeo tearing his gaze away from Mercutio to look down as Mercutio finally looked back up at him. What he did know, however, was that they passed by each other for a moment, Mercutio meeting his gaze.

He already knew what was happening, could feel how the coldness spread through his body as he grew heavier with every heartbeat, and yet, it was the way that not even Mercutio was able to muster up a smile and a joke that made all ideas of rescue come crashing down around him, leaving reality to seize him.

The knife, it was still there, right there, making it seem almost like he would be able to brush it aside and declare that they should all leave before the prince would arrive. Only, he could not. He could not move, he could not speak, he could barely think about anything but the way Mercutio tightened his grip around him.

A moment later, Romeo realised why, his knees buckling under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Or at least he would have ended up falling to the ground in a heap of broken ideals and bloodstained clothes had it not been for Mercutio catching him in time, lowering both of them down slowly. From somewhere far away, Romeo thought he could hear Tybalt struggle as one of the onlookers—why had they not done something? Why had no one done anything? Maybe it would have been different if they had—held him back, yelling something to him, the words lost to the muddled sensation of his existence becoming more and more distant with every passing second. But it all seemed almost trivial as he lay there, Mercutio pulling him closer, keeping his head from lolling from side to side as he wrapped his arms around him, letting him rest his head against his chest.

"Why…?" Mercutio's voice trembled slightly, but even then, Romeo could still hear the laugh that had been present only a few days ago underneath it all. Not even the sound of Mercutio struggling to form the words, the sight of his eyes growing shiny right above him would have been enough to change that. "Why—it was a foolish move, Romeo, truly foolish. I thought you were smarter than that."

The cold brought the sensation of ice spreading inside of him along, everything feeling more like winter than the bright sun shining down above them would have made him believe, and still, as Mercutio shook his head, Romeo would have lied if he had tried to claim that he did not feel strangely warm. The coldness that shot up through his chest was pure agony, and still, he felt almost at ease as he lay there.

But the look that Mercutio sent him, the sound of Benvolio assuring them that all would be all right in the end, that they just had to wait for the doctor to arrive, both of them being little more than a faint whisper to Romeo's senses, made it crystal clear to him that he had to answer, that it would not be right to just slip away from them now.

With what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug but could feel was more akin to a pained shudder, Romeo nodded towards Mercutio. "You were in danger. I knew that you would not be able to move in time so I…." stepped in between, decided that dying would be better than having to continue on without you—there were so many things he could have said, so many things he should have said, "knew that I had to do something."

"And this something was to get yourself stabbed?" a hysterical laugh tore into the feeling of blissful warmth, Mercutio shaking his head at him. "Romeo, I never—if I had known that you would…"

"I know." his body felt incredibly heavy, and still, Romeo was able to find the strength from some hidden place, able to reach out and place his hand on Mercutio's arm. "But I had to do something. Besides, I knew you would catch me in the end."

He would not have thought it possible for it all to become worse, but the next moment, Romeo found that he had been wrong. With a little sound, caught somewhere between being a gasp and a sob, Mercutio moved, reaching up to grasp the hand that had been resting on his arm only a moment earlier, keeping it from falling to rest limply against the ground beneath them.

As they sat there, Romeo could almost have fooled himself into thinking that they might make it. Perhaps it was because the rest of the world had gone quiet, Romeo somehow able to convince himself that the sudden silence was not a sign of how he was slipping away, no longer belonging to this world, to Verona and everyone who resided there—not lived, no, they didn't live, not fully. But more than anything, Romeo suspected that the sudden feeling of calmness had been brought on by the memories pulling him away from the present, instead sending him towards the past, towards the moment where he had first known that Mercutio, despite all the laughs and the little jabs, really did care.

The fall from the tree had hurt, bringing tears to his eyes, streaming down his cheeks, and still, as Mercutio had rushed to his side, helping him back up, careful as Romeo had gasped in pain and gestured towards his foot, he had somehow been able to take the pain away for a moment. He had stayed right there, ignoring Romeo's weak protests, the way he had tried a couple of times to warn Mercutio of how the rain was sure to seep into his clothes, making him ill while not truly wanting for him to leave him, waited until the moment when Benvolio had returned with one of his cousins.

Somehow, Romeo knew without asking that this would be the same, that Mercutio would remain at his side to the end, even as the marketplace grew empty, the people around them obeying the screams for them to leave and the warnings that the prince was on his way. He supposed he should have told Mercutio to follow them as well, but no matter how many times he tried to open his mouth, fully intent on telling him to do just that, Romeo found that he was unable to ask him to leave, to abandon him.

So instead, he allowed himself to find a semblance of peace in Mercutio's embrace, fully aware of how not even the way that Mercutio was holding onto him would be enough to keep him there in the end. If he tried, Romeo almost thought that he could feel the moment advancing towards him, feel how the sands were running out. They would turn the hourglass, he knew that. They would seek revenge and continue the cycle, allowing the darkness to wash over them.

Perhaps that realisation was why he found what little strength there was still left, forced himself to open his mouth. Maybe it was simply the fact that Mercutio deserved a goodbye that made him to move. Romeo was not certain what his reasons were; all he knew was that he had to tell him not to follow that path.

"Mercutio…" his voice was growing weaker, and even as Romeo tried his best to combat it, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

But even then, Mercutio only looked at him, bringing his face closer to him, seeming so focused that Romeo was certain that he would have heard him even if he had allowed the thought to remain nothing but a thought. "Yes?"

"You have to promise me… that you will not… will not try to avenge me."

The answer was evident in the way Mercutio drew back, a slight crease forming between his brows as he looked down at him, seemingly blind to the way Romeo tried to catch his gaze, tried to wordlessly convey to him that no matter what would happen now, he did not want for any of this to be a reason for Verona to continue its descent into darkness. But even then, Romeo still found himself caught off guard by the sheer anger in his voice as he brought an end to the fragile silence between them.

"Romeo, you are too gentle for this—this city."

There was no doubt about how he had begun to say something else entirely, but just what it was, Romeo could only imagine. Maybe he had tried to tell him that he was too gentle for the feud, to have willingly gone to the Capulets and become part of the family that wanted him dead, for the world in general. Every single one of the claims would have been correct, Romeo knew that as he felt himself grow heavier, Mercutio's arm around him being all that kept him above the ground.

"You are right," Romeo admitted, "I am. But more than anything, I am sorry for having done this to you, to all of you. Will you tell Juliet that, Mercutio?"

At the mention of Juliet's name, Romeo saw how something flashed in Mercutio's eyes, and for a moment, he almost feared that even now, Mercutio would try to remind him of how he was only in this spot, lying on the ground with the world gradually becoming dimmer around him because of everything the bond between them represented. But then the moment had passed, Mercutio sending him a weak smile. "Anything, Romeo. Anything you might want for me to tell her, just say it and then I will do my best to get the chance to deliver your words to her."

It was good. By all means, Romeo should have been relieved, able to find a little bit of comfort in the fact that, if nothing else, at least he would still get the chance to tell her everything he had allowed to remain unsaid in the naïve belief that he would have time. However, as he lay there, it was the pain of seeing an expression that was pure, unmasked sadness make its way over Mercutio's face rather than joy that rose up inside of him.

Still, he tried to mirror Mercutio's smile, hoping that perhaps he would be able to make it seem even halfway sincere. "Thank you, Mercutio. Truly, thank you. I can't tell you just much I appreciate—" a cough, wet and weak, tore its way out of his throat, reminding him of how he did not have many minutes left, and as Romeo shifted in Mercutio's embrace, trying to lessen the pain in his chest only a little, it was growing increasingly difficult to collect his thoughts, a mist having descended over him. But even then, he tried his best. "Tell her that… that it is alright. I would not have changed anything if I had got the chance, and I do not want for her to wish that I had got the option to do so. Tell her that I lo—" yet another cough interrupted him, pain flaring up in his chest.

For a moment, Romeo could only see darkness, everything around him losing its shape and colours. It should have been terrifying, feeling how he was plunged into death for a moment, all senses deserting him, leaving the hollow sensation of his heart fighting to continue on as the only thing he could feel. But as he gradually rose to the surface once more, Romeo found himself once again looking up at Mercutio, seeing the way his best friend had moved, clutching his hand so tightly that Romeo would have let out a little yelp of pain if he had been able to. In that moment, he was reminded of just why he had jumped in between Mercutio and Tybalt, why he had shoved Benvolio away when he had tried to pull him back, why he had ultimately made the decision to shove Mercutio away from the knife rather than fleeing himself.

His voice died in his throat, the last word of the sentence fading into the small space between them. "Tell her…" Romeo allowed himself a single, precious moment to consider his words, "tell her that I am sorry. For everything."

Maybe Mercutio understood him. Romeo hoped that was the case, that the way Mercutio tilted his head to the side, a hint of something more making its way into his eyes as he shook his head, was a sign that he understood what Romeo could not find the strength to tell him now when they both knew that it was a matter of seconds before it would all come crashing down around them. Perhaps he understood that Romeo did not wish to give him yet another reason to seek revenge after he was gone. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There were so many of them, so many moments where something could have shifted, leading them down a different path. Romeo could only imagine what they might have looked like, if they would also have led to this place, if Mercutio would also have held him in his last moments or if it would perhaps have been a different, more joyful scene that would have met his eyes.

"Romeo…" Mercutio shook his head, no longer able to keep back the tears. It should not have been what scared Romeo the most. After all, there were so many other signs that what was to come would be fire and blood, and yet, the sight of Mercutio crying, for once not having the strength to tell him a joke, was what brought an end to the last sliver of hope, "Romeo, don't... please, I beg you. You will be all right—you have to be. The doctor will be here in just a moment, and then—then we can figure it out. Please. If you just stay with me, then I will not have any reason to avenge you."

"You know me too well." Romeo would have laughed had it not been for how even the simple sentence was enough to set his chest aflame with pain. Gritting his teeth and trying his hardest not to let his face show more than a fraction of the pain, he shook his head. "But, Mercutio… please… don't do that. I…"

He did not know what made him stop, what brought an end to his ability to speak, to simply open his mouth and continue forwards. Mercutio knew. Romeo could see that when he looked into his eyes; he knew exactly what he meant to say, already responding to it as he brought the two of them a little closer to one another, not giving the blood that seeped into his shirt a thought. But even then, Romeo could not bring himself to say it, not when admitting that it was Mercutio who had shifted to become his entire world in the moment the cold had become unbearable felt too much like giving up and letting the cold claim him.

But he had to say something; he could not leave like this. That much, Romeo did know. So, trying his best not to give up yet, not to fade away completely, he brushed his thumb across the back of Mercutio's hand, hoping that the look in his eyes would be enough to tell him that, had he only been able to, had they only had more time, it could have been more. "I—I am sorry. For everything."

Mercutio did not attempt to tell him not to be sorry, did not try to convince him that he had no reasons to feel that way. Instead, he simply closed what little distance there was still left between them and pressed a soft kiss to Romeo's forehead.

As Romeo struggled to continue breathing, he was almost certain that he heard Mercutio whisper something to him, though he could not identify the individual words. But even then, he did not attempt to. When Mercutio pulled back, all Romeo could think about was how he was grateful to be able to look up at Mercutio as the coldness spread throughout his entire body, ending it all.

His heart struggled for a moment longer, beat after beat forming an uneven rhythm not unlike the one that had echoed through the room when Mercutio had pulled him away from one of the Capulet servants. For a moment Romeo almost thought he could hear Mercutio's heartbeat as well, the two drums coming together to, for a moment, mirror each other. But, of course, his own heart could not keep up, bringing an end to the moment as it beat again, another time, slower and slower.

And then, silence.


End file.
